John Hooker
by Qin H
Summary: It's just the first chapter and the first few lines of chapter 2, so, check it out.


Chapter 1

A raging storm shook the sandy beaches of the west coast, waves from the Pacific Ocean crashed against rocks, and lightning flashed in the air, thunder shaking the sky. Rain poured down, making it nearly impossible to see in the night, though the stars and moon were shining brightly. A cliff with sheer rock going down straight into the water stood atop of everything. Facing out towards the water was a majestic mansion stooped atop the cliff, overlooking the sand, the ocean, and a big dock that branched out into three docks, each one docking a huge yacht, or speedboat. The mansion itself must have been at the least eight or nine stories tall, with a large navy blue shingle roof and a tall tower emerging from the very middle of the mansion, obviously a lighthouse.

John Hooker, the owner of the mansion, was at the moment arriving from a business trip. Hooker was a board member at a company named Orwell incorporated.

Hooker was just coming back from Philadelphia. He was flying in a Citation II jet. The interior was a custom style, with white leather interior, complete with a kitchen, and a large plasma screen built into the wall. Hooker was lounging on the couch watching HD golf. He didn't really enjoy golf, but if anyone was sent to spy on him, he'd look inconspicuous. What his time was really occupying was a conversation with the board president about a murder within the main headquarters of the Orwell Company using a Bluetooth earpiece.

Hooker asked the board president, Eli Yavengoch, "So the murder was somewhere within the company lines?"

"Yes, it happened at 6:00 o'clock pm last evening," answered Yavengoch, his voice thick with Russian accent, "Hammerston was just packing up to leave, when a sniper from somewhere within the building shot him, straight in the temple. We figured from the size and type of the bullet, our team's finest experts, that it was a CZ 750 sniper 308. Hammerston was dead before he hit the ground."

John shook his head sadly. Even though it was too expected. Hammerston was one of the most praised scientists in the world. He was one of the scientists to create biochemical weapons, but then he retired, only to be reinstated by Orwell Company ten years ago. It was a shame to lose him. "So, what shall we do now?"

"More security and a new head for the scientists. Hammerston was a great leader."

When the conversation ended, Hooker took the risk of taking out his Macintosh laptop and uploaded the blueprints of the Company headquarters. To the very north was the presidents office, a large rectangular office, two the right of the main building was a line of skinny buildings which were the laboratories. To the very south were the packing and shipping garages.

What was unseen to Hooker was a small jet with two rugged looking men inside. One had a black curly mustache, while the other had a rugged shave. The loud sounds of the jet were drowned out by the sounds of thunder and pounding sleet.

The man with the rugged shave turned to the other man. "Roy, eh, I think we're close enough to see the blueprints."

The other man pulled out some binoculars and looked through them. Even though the sky was pounding with rain, they were above the clouds, so he could see clearly enough. "Aye, I can see them, Remijio. Eh," he said as he adjusted binoculars. Once he had a clear shot of Hooker and his Macintosh blueprints, he snapped a shot with the special binocular-camera technology.

"He he, Got 'em. He don't know what hit him. Then jet off into the black of the night, with John Hooker still examining the blueprints, oblivious to what had just happened outside of his private jet plane.

When John's plane arrived at the mansion, the plane did a U-turn and landed on a long, paved runway. John stepped out of the plane, hurrying down the plane steps that he been temporarily attached, and ran inside. The plane's driver drove the plane to a large hangar where the plane would dry off.

Inside the main hall of the mansion was amazing. An immensely tall ceiling, with large, glittering chandeliers, and two curving staircases spiraling upwards loomed over him. Between them was a magnificent glass elevator. John stepped on to the plush carpet, wondering what he had wondered every time he stepped into his house since the day he bought it. Why did he need such a large house?

He hung his dripping brown overcoat on a hanger by the front door. He trudged up four floors to his own private suite and undressed, taking a refreshing, hot shower. After he got out he dried himself, put on clean clothes, and examined his features in his mirror. He had a handsome face, clean-shaven, a wavy, black hair. Solemn, brown eyes looked back at himself.

He went downstairs into the dining room and had dinner by himself, as he did every night. After he finished his, as always, delicious filet mignon, he climbed all eight flights of stairs, into the lighthouse. Then he climbed another four landings, to the very top. He often went up there to think. He leaned back on the rail. Someone hadn't just taken out Hammerson because he was a scientist, there must be another reason. Well, there was the fact that he was working for a new company, but it seemed unlikely, unless the snipe was from a rival company, like Trident Towers, Inc. Though it could be anything. One thought came to him but he immediately eliminated the possibility, for it almost frightened him. John pondered on this thought for a while, and then went back downstairs for bed.

The next morning John drove in a Ferrari 599 GTB to the headquarters, nearly 20 miles away. When he got to the gate, nearly a mile away from the building, with a thirty foot, five thousand volt fence, he flashed his ID and passed through. The building itself was white block, with steel barred windows, and a low, concrete roof. John always thought the place looked more like a jail than anything. But when he entered the building, it was much nicer. The smell was the sort of smell in a hospital, and the white-tile floors were squeaky clean. John took a left, passing a group of men in suits, and took a right all the way down to the end of the corridor, to where his office was.

Inside his office was a desk, with his nameplate on the front, the surface strewn with papers, files, pens, and pencils, on the wall were pictures of him in Brazil, China, Africa, Russia, and the UK. Across from the desk were two blue recliners, with a polished, round desk in between.

John went and sat at his desk, then opened his suitcase, pulling out his Mac computer, getting to work. Every minute or so he glanced up, catching an image of a large, stocky guard, the new security equipped with a SIG-SAUER. Most of the day he spent in his office, working on his laptop.

Later in the day a man in a black suit came up to John's office. "Ah, Mr. Hooker. Your needed present at a meeting in five minutes."

"Thank you, Evan." John really did not want to attend a meeting. But if he had to, he would.

He got up and headed to the meeting room. On the way there he met a man with gray hair, blue eyes, and a kind, wrinkled face. "Hello, John. How are you today? Did you here about Hammerston? It was a shame he had to go, he was a nice man."

"I agree, Dave, it was a shame."

When John started to walk away, Dave called after him, "Well, where are you going, John?"

"Oh," John called back, "I'm 'needed present' at a meeting, unfortunately."

Dave caught up to him. "Oh, it's alright, John, I'll take your place at the meeting."

"Could you really do that?" asked John.

"Of course! You don't need to be bothered by a boring old meeting. An old man like me won't mind."

John thanked the kind man and headed back to his office, back to his Mac. After another hour or so. John leaned back in his chair. Done. Suddenly a disturbing noise reached his ears. A loud echoing bang rang through the building. Oh no, John thought, please no.

He ran out into the hall, along with everyone else, wondering what had happened. John knew exactly where to look. He ran down the hall, to the left, and then a right, to the meeting room. He could hear voices, scared voices from inside the room. He went into the room to find a crippled body on the ground. He was sure that it was Dave. There was a bullet shot directly to the forehead. John couldn't look at it. There were other men in the room, staring impassively at John.

The bullet was meant for him. The single thought ran through John's mind over and over again. Dave had decided to take John's place at the meeting, sitting were John usually sat, resulting in the wrong person dead.

Dave was rushed to an ambulance and hospitalized immediately but there was, as always, nothing they could do. No one could survive a shot to the head such as that one.

Days went on without another shot fired and the press settled down, having had their fill on the constant gossip of stories around the building. After a week or so, everyone seemed to calm down, and everyone settled back into their normal lives. But Dave or Hammerston, they will never see their normal lives again.

Chapter 2

Traffic in New York was unlucky for Roy Thompson as he drove through street after street to the heart of the city. By the time he reached his destination, the sun was at its zenith, meaning he only had an hour to report back to the boss. He parked his Eclipse in an empty parking lot and entered a broken down building through the side door.

Immediately after he passed through the doorway a gun was thrust to his throat, but then retracted, a voice saying, "Ah, it's you." The speaker was Yamar Palparino, his boss's bodyguard.

"Where is he?" asked Roy.

"He is in his 'office'," answered Palparino.

Roy then navigated the inner workings of the building to find the 'office' that Palparino spoke of. He eventually found it after minutes of tedious backtracking, for it was a maze of rooms in the building.

When he entered the room Roy suddenly felt unsafe. His boss was the most dangerous person to ever double-cross. He couldn't make a mistake. He had planned everything perfectly. There was no flaws or loose ends that he could think of.

Ghal Bolbo spoke and broke Roy's thoughts. "Did you bring it? You've failed me once, so you'd better have it." Bolbo's voice was calm and impassive, yet there was a hinted threatening tone behind it.

Roy chose his words carefully. "Of course I brought it. It's right here." He tipped a bag upside down emptying out a leather box with three digital locks.

"Good," Bolbo chuckled. "I knew you wouldn't fail me." He reached for the case but Roy stopped him. A flicker of surprise showed on Bolbo's face as Roy, in one fluid movement, grabbed the case with one hand, pulled out a magnum pistol with the other and fired six shots unmercifully into Ghal Bolbo's chest, causing him to fall backwards out of his seat dramatically.

For a moment, Roy thought it was over. So very unfortunately, he was wrong. Ghal Bolbo slowly rose up from the ground. His shirt was ripped, revealing a bulletproof torso beneath. All color drained from Roy's face as Bolbo slowly took out a small black pistol, the same he'd used to kill Roy's friend, Ramejio, and fired once. Almost immediately, a dark stain appeared on Roy's chest were the bullet had fired. Roy sank to his knees, eyes wide open, his last expression of surprise still etched on his face.


End file.
